


Burden of Ten Kings

by DoorIsAjar



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Parents, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fighting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14829245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoorIsAjar/pseuds/DoorIsAjar
Summary: "She's fumbling, grief consuming her mind and terror constricting her heart, and she's nothing but a child with dead parents and the burden of ten kings' worth weighing her down."Lucina is a child playing Exalt, leading a dwindling group of beaten-down followers to their deaths. No one can last under that pressure.





	Burden of Ten Kings

Her fists slam into the ground, and she clenches her jaw, teeth grinding against one another.

Too many died today. Far too many - she was their leader, but clearly she wasn't doing enough, wasn't capable or strong or fit enough to do enough.

Her hands tremble as she brings one up to her forehead, begging for her mind to give her peace. She needs to pull herself together. These periods of emotional instability are becoming far too reoccurring, and it needs to _stop._ She's placed the fate of the world of her shoulders, and she expects herself to hold herself together - because if she can't even do that, how can she expect to save everyone else?

But she's fumbling, grief consuming her mind and terror constricting her heart, and she's nothing but a child with dead parents and the burden of ten kings' worth weighing her down. She's bound to crumble, but she can't accept it.

So she pounds the ground again, grinds her teeth until she hears an odd pop within the confines of her skull, and rests her forehead against the cement floor to will the uncomfortable warmth away with the cooled ground.

There's a hand on her shoulder, but she can't look whoever it is in the eye. She's ashamed of herself; she's supposed to be better than this, but she can't pull herself together. She can't force herself to.

"It's all right, Lucina."

Owain.

It's strange. His voice, that is. It's not the uproar of superiority or the chivalric charade of masculinity that usually rolls off his tongue. It's...comforting.

"You're allowed to not be strong."

Her head feels ready to bust, and her body feels close to collapsing. She left a trail of blood into her quarters, and it's not a surprise that someone followed it.

"You did your best. I know you're not happy with how many lives we lost today, but we would have lost a lot more without you."

"I wasn't good enough."

"Lucina-"

Her hand covers a sob. "I'm leading people to their deaths. What if..." Her stomach does a nauseating flip, and she shudders. "What if I lead you to your death?"

"I would gladly die to protect you - or anyone, for that matter."

"But I don't want that!"

Her head throbs, but she grits her teeth, relishing in the pain.

"I couldn't live with myself knowing my orders killed you - or Severa or Cynthia or Gerome or _anyone_. I'm...I'm leading sheep to the slaughter, and everyone is blindly following me."

"We're aren't blindly following anything. We're following you. And Lucina, you're the most caring person I know. You would sell your soul to Grima in an instant if it meant keeping everyone safe. We believe in you, and...we care about you." His tone softens, and he rests a hand on her back. He's scared to find protruding bones and a sickly warmth to her body, but he doesn't retract.

"You're our friend, and you're my family. I know I act kinda dumb, but I couldn't imagine the kind of stress you have. I don't think I would have it in me to crawl out of bed in the morning. But you do. Day after day, and I'm honored to follow your lead. We're fighting an uphill battle, and I couldn't ask for a better leader. Lucina, you've brought us closer to victory than any of us dreamed possible.

"I will fight for you. And if that means not dying, then I'll give my all to do that."

He's able to slowly coax her into a hug, and he swallows down any fear that festers in his belly because he's never seen Lucina like this. He rocks on the cold cement as her hands grip and ungrip the fabric of his shirt, chest heaving as sobs will their way up her throat and she fights to remain silent. He's treating her like a child - and that's when he truly realizes that she is a child. They all are, and the idea of her crawling out of bed each morning to do the job of a king makes his skin crawl with disgust.

His hand rubs against bones, protruding from malneurishment, and skin far too warm to be natural, and Lucina is bound to contract an illness, if she hasn't already. Owain wants to scream because they all have it unfair, and Lucina has been nothing but a pillar of strength that they've taken for granted. No one's noticed her crumbling walls and the facade she carries about her personage. She's hidden it away from suspicious eyes, and it's not that she is just now crumbling under the weight -

It's that they've been too naive to believe that she has yet to crumble.

She already _had_ , and no one gave a damn to check on her.

He has no right to call himself her cousin. He's taken her for granted just like everyone else.

A week later Lucina wakes unbearably hot, sweat coating every inch of her skin, and she tumbles out of bed because there is a campaign today that she must lead. Troops march from the castle, unaware their Exalt resides in a feverish haze, sword plundering Risen with trembling hands and a perpetual sense of nausea lining the length of her throat.

The campaign is a success, and morale rises tremendously. Losses are down over 90%, and that's all that matters. There's less blood on her hands this time, metaphorically, at least, because there's more physical blood, and the handle of Falchion is sticky with the red mess. Her hand won't - can't - release the sword, muscles held far too tense for far too long; and when a hand covers her own, uncurling her fingers - gently, as if afraid they would break off - something lurches.

Something throws her into reality, and she doesn't know how she made it back alive, and the blood on her hands isn't from Risen because _they don't bleed_. Its her own.

"I've got you."

Owain.

He's ready to piss his pants because Lucina looks ready to drop.

That's partially a lie because she has _still_ managed to keep herself upright, has _still_ managed to appear put together.

But she's burning up from the inside out, body trembling from head to toe, and Owain feels guilt pool greedily in his stomach as his hands work her fingers, freeing Falchion from her rigid grip. He sheaths it for her as she works movement back into the bones.

It happens without warning, and suddenly she's vomiting, a pasty yellow bile running a thin river over the cement, and Owain fumbles in response, ripping excess cloth off himself to wipe her mouth.

"O-Owain..."

She's scared.

She's probably more than scared, and Owain plasters on a smile for her because her eyes are wide, and he expects an apology to follow next because that's just who she is.

It doesn't come.

However, tears do, and she coughs, a thick sound with another bout of bile and blood running rivulets over her bottom lip. Tears prick at her eyes, and a sudden need to protect overwhelms Owain.

"You're okay. Please don't be scared, Lucina, I got you."

He's just got her mouth clean when her eyes roll back and her body goes limp, and he jumps to collect her in his arms.

She's like a rag doll, and all he can do is scream.

" _Brady_! I need Brady _now_!"

When she next wakes, her stomach feels hollow, and her mouth tastes bitter. Her eyelids are heavy, and she scans the room to find someone mixing a concoction to the right.

The remnants of a sunset pile their way through a window over the bed, but it had been night when she passed out, last she remembers. The person steps closer, and Lucina can faintly make out a scar across his narrow eyes.

"Brady..." It feels as if she's speaking through water, or perhaps a glob of gelatin stuck in her cheeks. Either way, it's exhausting.

"Ya' had us real worried there."

Her door cracks open, and a bushel of blond pokes through. While she can't quite make the boy out, he steps inside, leaving the door cracked behind him.

"How..." Perhaps there _is_ something in her mouth because she has to work around it to speak - but there's nothing, at least that her tongue can feel. "How long..?"

"Three days."

That's not quite accurate because she woke sporadically, day and night. She wasn't lucid, that much was obvious. Severa had been visiting the first time Lucina woke, and she was met with hollow eyes and incoherent mumblings. By the first morning, a few of them demanded that someone watch Lucina at all times, that their little group would take turns. They tended to her like a sick child, dabbing sweat from her skin and supplying water when she momentarilly woke, holding her hand as a nightmare clouded her dreams and, some of them, humming her back to sleep.

But surprise darts through her veins. Her body screams at her as she moves. That explains why her stomach feels ready to cave in, and that's why the sun is setting. She's left everyone without a ruler for three days.

Her legs are twisted around a blanket, but she forces herself up, planting feet in the ground and watching the world spin as she drops to the ground.

"Lucina!" Owain holds her by the shoulders, and he's not certain who is trembling: her or him because he's scared. He can't lose Lucina - none of them can, and not just because she's their leader. They've fucking taken that for granted, run her straight into the ground, but all they have left is one another.

"There's... Two days, a campaign." Her world shifts and spins about, but Owain brings her head upon his chest. She can faintly hear his heartbeat, and it's calming. She can't recall the last time she was held like this. Before her parents died, before Aunt Lissa died, before she was thrusted into her position as Exalt.

Owain looks up at Brady, eyes helpless, despite himself.

"She needs food an' rest."

The door creaks, and Brady can see a few others poking their heads through the crack. Owain is glad for their presence. He wants them to feel guilty because they all failed her; they let a child play king and... perhaps they did follow blindly behind her. She had good judgement, could turn the tides of a battle with a single command. What would compel them to question anything?

Maybe the fact that their Exalt was Lucina.

Their Exalt was a _friend_ ; she was _family_ to them all.

Why bother looking out for one another? The question burned Owain.

"Can't... Campaign..." She wants to remain within his warmth, continue listening to his heartbeat patter along, but there are battle plans to review. The Risen are encroaching upon their castle, and they can't let the last remnants of their home crumle.

She pushes against his leg to stand, fighting for control over her own. She wobbles because she can't support her own weight, but she'll be damned if she doesn't try. A strangled gasp leaves her throat as her legs turn numb and she crumples back onto Owain.

His arms wrap around her, and he smooths her hair, noticing not the first time the absence of her tiara and how much younger the loss of one strand of jewelry makes her look.

"We can't... Wait, we can't..." He's afraid that he's losing her again to the fever, and he clutches her more tightly.

"Lucina -"

"Owain, no..." She brings a hand to her forehead, a poor attempt at staving off the fever running amuck through her mind and teetering her between consciousness. "No, no, no -"

"Hey, it's okay, I promise. We can handle this."

"No, no one else."

His eyebrows furrow because she's talking to him, actually talking to him despite how utterly hot she is and how fried her brain must be, but her words still do not make complete sense.

"No one else what?"

"No one else... Please, no one else deserves to feel like this."

The door cracks again, but Owain ignores it. He pulls Lucina closer to himself, patting her hair down and whispering empty words of pleasantries into her ear.

There's guilt and stress and worry and anxiety and fear and a never ending list of emotions that toil away at Lucina's heart because of her position as Exalt, and she won't let another person feel this in her stead.

She deteriorates slowly into a mess of tears and mumblings, grabby hands that bunch up Owain's shirt because she feels like she's on fire, and she needs something to hold, something to choke, before she, herself, chokes on the heat of her fever. Her sweat drenches Owain, but it only makes him hold her closer, speak more sweetly. When he plants a small kiss on her forehead, tears spring to his eyes. She deserves to be coddled. They all do, but Lucina deserves it more than all of them combined; and he can't play the role of her loving mother or doting father, but he can be her family.

"Let's get you to bed."

He doesn't want to let go, but she needs more rest. She'll insist on leading the next campaign; and even if he cannot deter that, he'll make certain her health improves.

She's the Exalt, but all be damned if she doesn't get the care she deserves.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I adamantly refuse to curse, so I copy-paste all curse words from online. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! This was incredibly fun to write; I love writing stuff that does not necessarily have a strict plot, so I can go a bit deeper with emotions and mess around with word choice a bit more. :)


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